The Earth drinks blood.
A curse on anger! A curse on greed, my friend! A curse upon folly and upon intolerance! Cursed be the way of kshatriyas, and cursed be the strength of men, that you should aim at me and I at you, O bull-like heir of Shini! For you are dearer to me than life, and so was I always to you. I remember all those boyhood deeds we shared; now on this field of battle they have all withered away for us! What reason have I to fight you today, other than anger and greed, O Satvata?
Time returns to the origins of time.
Then with his torrents of arrows the wearer of the diadem set a dreadful river flowing on that battlefield: its water was blood from the wounds of weapons on men’s bodies, its foam human fat; broad in current, it flowed very swiftly, terrible to see and to hear. Corpses of elephants and horses formed its banks, the entrails, marrow and flesh of men its mud. Ghosts and great throngs of demons lined its banks. Its waterweed was hair attached to human skulls, its billows severed pieces of armor, as it bore along thousands of bodies in heaps. Fragments of the bones of men, horses and elephants formed the gravel of that fearful, destructive, hellish river; crows, jackals, vultures and storks, and throngs of carrion beasts and hyenas were approaching its banks from every direction.
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